Protector
by Seven Positions
Summary: Kurosaki Ichigo, your protector was, regrettably, unable to come save you today. Preseries oneshot.


Oh man. It's another one from that crazy girl.

_Disclaimer: _Bleach isn't mine. Kurosaki Ichigo is unfortunately not mine.

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_Kurosaki Ichigo,_

His whole head just sang out in pain, throbbing in time with his heart, which had finally slowed down.

_your protector was, regrettably,_

"Fuck," he hissed through swollen lips. He found his leg speared with white-hot knives every time he tried to move.

_unable to come save you today._

The damage is sizable, spoke the calm area of his brain- the area that hadn't been jostled around too much. Broken leg, cracked skull, they tried to choke you, your whole goddamn _face _looks like a balloon. Might even be internal bleeding.

He sputtered at this thought and decided that, burning, writhing agony or no, he needed to get home. So, bracing himself against the pain, he rolled over and pushed himself up until he was standing. His face worked to keep the scream inside of his lungs.

So began the near-impossible task of getting himself halfway across Karakura. Once, he stumbled, fell, like there for a full five minutes repeating a mantra of "shit shit shit shit _shit_" and clutching his thigh.

Goddamn _thugs, _he thought, couldn't leave me and my hair alone.

The screeching brakes of a bus alerted him suddenly, and he shifted so he could see the doors open like a castle drawbridge, beckoning him forth. The driver, a fattish woman who sat hunched over the steering wheel, stared at him mutely as he painfully hobbled up the stairs.

"Is this bus," he asked, astonished by the raspy quality of his voice, "headed toward the Kurosaki Clinic?"

Yes, it was, but she would have dropped him off there anyway, she said. He staggered on, took the first seat available, and dug his nails into his knee to halt the jolts of pain from the steady vibrations beneath him.

It was right about then that he noticed the holes in his face that the almost frightened gaze of the other passengers had burned. He readjusted himself uncomfortably, keeping his head down so that perhaps his obnoxious hair would block their view of him.

Unlikely, spoke the calm part of his mind once more. They're bound to notice that you're bleeding all over the seat, right?

"Need any help?" a nearby voice spoke. It was deep and heavy and short, sounding almost unpracticed, hardly ever used. It was a huge man, tanned and muscular and very foreign looking, but oddly enough sporting a uniform to match his.

Ichigo scowled at him, feeling only momentarily surprised at his own animosity. He was tired, he hurt- he _hurt- _all over, and people were still gawking like fish at him as though he were goddamn Britney Spears and he was _not _in the mood.

"No, thanks," he spat, turning away and hunching his shoulders to barricade any further attempts at friendliness. They didn't come. The ride to the Kurosaki Clinic was silent. There was nothing to distract him from the increasing blurriness of _everything _and the fuzzy feeling in his ears. Maybe he wished he'd been nicer.

The dizziness came next, so _loud _that he couldn't even hear the hiss of the doors opening or the called offers for help. All he could do was limp down the aisle and toward his home, using his hands as a guide.

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"Where is that blasted son of mine!" Kurosaki Isshin seethed, glaring at the clock. "He's almost an hour late!"

"Calm down, old man. We'll start without him," Karin sighed, removing a hat to run an impatient hand through her hair.

"If he doesn't come within two seconds, I'll disown him! I swear I will!"

A dull, ominous thud sounded just outside, and the hush that followed was so very thick that all three Kurosakis present leapt into the air when the oven beeped.

"I'll go check," the suddenly solemn father murmured.

The screen door wouldn't open with the practiced force. Mildly surprised, Isshin pushed harder until he saw the telltale orange hair. One more shove and his face, bloated and covered in blood, came into view. The man swallowed down the abrupt rising of shock and anger and nausea and called quietly, "Yuzu, Karin. Dinner is delayed. Prepare a bed and some bandages."

As he dragged his only son's beaten body into the house, he assessed the damage, visibly wincing as he ran over the list of visible injuries in his head. Isshin ran his hand over the finger marks on his son's tender, bruised neck. Ichigo'd gotten himself into _quite _a situation, by the looks of it.

But, thought the old man with a grin, that wouldn't stop him from rousing the boy tomorrow morning with the routine aerial assault.

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no of course the ending wasn't bad AHAHAHA.

Anyway, guys. I'd really like some reviews on this one. I happen to be proud of it.


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